


the long road home

by curtailed



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Character Study, Epic Bromance, Humanstuck, Interspecies Romance, M/M, writing solkat in the end of 2019 is a perfect way to go imho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtailed/pseuds/curtailed
Summary: The long road home.(Alternate summary: in which Karkat somehow accidentally gets saddled with Sollux in a demon-deal and doesn't have to navigate the Long Road alone.)
Relationships: Sollux Captor/Karkat Vantas
Kudos: 20





	the long road home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this had been sitting in my drafts for a while, and I just want to put it out there while I can (that's why the writing style is also a bit different).
> 
> It's going to be a relatively "short" work! This is a less plot-centric fic and focused more on our main characters, which means that once again I'm writing Solkat even though it's almost 2020. Sue me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to leave a comment; I'd love to see how you guys thought of it.

You don't deem yourself stupid -- you're not intellectual, not yet, not when half of public education tenure is still barred from you -- but you know for sure that the figure lounging on your bed was _not_ there when you left for school this morning.

You rub your eyes and it's still there, this bizarre lump of -- _grey_? this wasn't melanoma, hopefully -- skin over sharp bones in _T-shirt and jeans_ and what looked like a pair of _fucking_ _horns_ protruding out of its head. Other than that, it retains a humanoid shape, one head and four limbs sprawled lazily over your blankets.

"What the fuck," you say.

"Dude you're only ten, how do you even know that word?" Its voice also takes you by surprise; it's humanlike, flat and not-giving-a-shit, as it slowly turns to face you.

Double fangs, red and blue eyes, and --

 _glasses?_ pushed up into black, messy hair.

You rub your eyes harder.

"I'm hallucinating," you groan out loud, plopping next to the weirdo on your bed. Instincts should be screaming for you to run, to call the police, to swat a metal-studded baseball bat at its head -- but instead you try to stuff your face into the blankets. "I've lost it. I'm in the deep end. Where's my medication, man? _Where's my medication_?"

"Are you trying to reference something?"

"Shut up," you mutter. The thing will fade out of existence soon. "Get out of here. Leave me alone."

"I can't."

"I'll call the police on you. You really want to go toe-to-toe on the coppers, is that your life ambition?"

"Holy shit, what kind of kid are you?" The thing shifts on the bed and rubs a finger over one of its glasses' lens; you get the feeling it's a gesture done repeatedly. "Hot damn, I didn't even bring a checklist with me. Let me lay it out for you."

"Lay it out, you wimp."

"I'm a demon. You summoned me. I don't know how to leave, I didn't want to be here, and I'm not an incubus looking for sex."

And thus, this was how you met Sollux Captor.

====

"Incubus looking for sex," you repeat later, curled up at your desk.

It's a he, for starters -- you ask him to prove it, and then flush at the implications. He doesn't give you his birds-and-demonic-bees talk. He speaks with a lithp. You mercilessly make fun of him until he reminds you that he owns your soul.

"But I really can't do anything with it," he clarifies, lounging on the floor.

Throughout the rest of the day he's been a happy damn barrel of exposition, casually hovering a respectable radius from you as you attempt to finish your homework. He can shapeshift. He can fly. He has the ability to level out a city with red-and-blue-brain-electricity --

"Psionics," he had snapped at you --

he's over a bajillion years old and yes, he remembers the dinosaur ages.

"What were they li -- "

"For the _love of fuck_ don't ask me."

He's never invisible to you, so you can't just dismiss him as a nasally breeze tapping your window. He's invisible to other people, though, unless he chooses not to be. 

"So if you were headlocking me, it'd look like I was wrestling myself?"

"Yup."

"God, you're an asshole." All you wanted was peace. All you wanted was quiet.

Sollux props himself at the edge of your desk. You noticed that he's still in his demonic form, grey skin and solid blank eyes and double horns -- but he's shrunken down a lot. You're no expert on demonic anatomy, but judging by the way the muscles on his face have arranged and how his body resembles a spindly stick you'd infer he looks younger. Like, your-age younger. He swings his leg back and forth, occasionally crashing his heel into the handle of your drawer.

You rub your eyes for the billionth time.

"So what do you want from me?"

"You're taking all this with a lot more chill than I'm expecting," he admits, continuing to indirectly mess up the wood of your desk. "Aren't you supposed to leap to your feet for your rosary and hyang and chase me the hell out of Dodge?"

"I'll still be stuck with you. And if you're not real, you'll disappear in a few days." You give up on decimals; fuck them with a rusty spoon.

Sollux's eyes glow a little.

"I'm real," he says, his voice lower and rougher than before, and he leans closer. Instinctively you're flinching away -- he grabs your wrist and pushes your sleeve up. On your forearm is what looks a lopsided Roman Numeral II, glimmering a faint, pasty gold.

That was _definitely_ not there when you went to wash your hands earlier.

"What the hell," you stammer.

"That's my symbol." Sollux leans back and pulls up his shirt; you mutter an expletive before seeing the swirling set of loops right where his navel would be, shining a bright candy-red. "In our agreement, this is yours. It's how I know you're alive."

"Good to know there's a stalker keeping tabs on me."

"You're the one who summoned me, dickhead."

"But I didn't!" you curse, jumping to your feet -- or tried to, before toppling like a complete tool onto the carpet. You glare at him from your vantage point. "How the hell would I know how to summon a fucking demon? I don't remember drawing any pentagrams or shit, I don't remember pulling out any candles, and I _definitely_ wouldn't summon something like your bony ass anyway! What the hell would I even what?"

"Jegus, you're so fucking mouthy. Where do you learn half of your vocabulary, the Merriam-Hipster of Cock-kicking Dicktionary? Is that what you learn in school?"

"Shut up," you mumble. You _did_ learn a new gesture in class today, however, and you show it to them.

He snorts loudly. "Ancient Greeks flipped the bird too, you know, you overeager edgy loser."

God, you already fucking hate him.

====

When you sneak into the covers at night, however, you're surprised he doesn't crawl in with you.

"I literally told you I'm not an incubus," he snaps as he lies down on the carpet. "Also, no? You're ten, I'm not, I don't think your shit's even dropped yet. Additionally: brain-bleach _no_ , please."

"I'm the one stuck in the deal here," you grumble. Another thought drags into your mind. "So what _do_ you want from me? Blood?"

"I'd rather snort chicken soup up my nose."

"Money?"

"Oh, you're earning your own wages now? Pretty sure your human law's got something against _that._ "

"Touché. Okay, I don't know what I'm packing for your taste buds. Enlighten me."

"Your emotions, I guess." He must've detected the alarm on your face, because he plows on quickly -- "no, not _removing_ them, Jegus, that's the equivalent of someone cleaning up your meal before you even finished it. More like -- just, communal sharing. And in return, I keep you safe and alive."

"Communist?"

"You're not even in middle school, dipshit."

"Again, touché." You roll over to the edge of your bed to take a better look at him. His eyes are closed, his shades tucked in the collar of his shirt -- which you notice has the same ugly yellow symbol on your forearm -- and for a moment you could believe he was just a kid your age and you're having a completely normal sleepover.

With no blanket or pillow.

 _Fuck_ your life.

"Dude, do you want to sleep somewhere else?"

"I don't sleep," Sollux lisps at you, and your mind's damn near bursting with a million questions of what he is, where'd he came from, what's his endgame here -- but you're feeling generous tonight. 

"The hell you don't. Get your stick-glorified ass up here, we're sharing the bed."

"This is creepy as shit," he slurs, but he takes up your offer. You both immediately shift to opposite sides of the bed. For your own safety -- this isn't even a good idea, what the hell -- you stuff a pillow between your bodies. Sollux doesn't react, though -- his frame is absolutely still, his chest rising and falling slowly.

And that's how your first night -- first of many -- passes with him.

====

"You're following me to school."

"It's either this or your bedroom. I have to be within a certain distance from you."

"So you _are_ a stalker."

"Banish me to your bedroom, then." Sollux gives you a smile with more teeth than you're comfortable with. He's still in the same-age form as you, thankfully, so it makes it easier to communicate with him. At least you're granted the illusion that you two are on the same maturity balance. The bus stop is empty of people, save for you two.

"I really don't see why I shouldn't -- "

"The same bedroom that's got your _computer,_ " he finishes.

Oh.

Shit.

"Fuck you!" you yell at him, and to your credit he's actually tangible -- you manage to shove him half a foot backward. "What did I really do to get you? Piece of shit!"

A neighbor stares at you blankly, and you flush angrily. You must look insane, just hollering and pushing at thin air.

Sollux sighs and raises his hands, palms outward.

"Okay, we'll settle into some equilibrium here." A glowing piece of paper manifests right before you, shimmering vaguely with red and blue. "Normally I don't give this much leeway to my deals, but then again they're the assholes that actually dragged me to this shithive. So what are your terms?"

"To leave me the hell alone?"

"Don't think that's doable, and it's really not preferable. I'm kind of feeding off of you here."

"So if I made you go away, you'd die?" The question makes you slightly nervous, but you need to know.

"If I'm starving," Sollux says slowly, not looking at you, "then my instincts override my rational thought."

"You go full psycho or something?"

"I go full psycho on the first person I see," he says testily.

Great. You're serving both as his leash and food bank, and you're still. _only. ten._

"I can't believe this," you mutter, dragging the heel of your hands across your face.

====

All the way on the bus ride, Sollux whispers a few more conditions in your ear and you give him a nod or a shake of a head. On the more dubious ones, you write out your requests.

In a list that's no way complete:

He can't feed off of you without asking for consent (but inevitably he still has to feed).

He can't feed off of other people without your consent (he's the one to suggest the second half of the promise, and the thought still disquiets you a little).

He's not _forced_ to listen to you -- demons rarely are -- but it's _preferable_ he goes along with your requests. You underline the word 'preferable' enough times that he gets the memo.

"That all?" he grumbles.

You're ten, and you really should've spotted your loophole.

_he can't harm or kill people_

_he can't use his powers on others_

In hindsight there's a reason why kids shouldn't accidentally summon demons.

====

"Do you _have_ to keep tailing me?" you hiss as Sollux -- without any preamble -- plops down in the seat next to you. You two are the first ones in class today, much to your eternal sorrow.

"I'm hungry, dude, and I still haven't had my post-summoning meal yet."

"Why didn't you just feed off me yesterday night? We didn't set up the terms yet."

Sollux leans on an elbow and looks at you full in the face. 

"One," he says flatly, "maybe I have standards? Like 'wow, this ten year old idiot has not a single _iota_ of business doing this demonic shit and I'm shackled to you even though I'm really not in for it? Did you consider all that?"

"Why would a demon have standards?"

"Why wouldn't we? We're practically mildly-malicious beings that just live on another dimension."

"Mildly."

He stares at you strangely. "Okay, I'm not too keen using the phrase 'you're too young to know' -- "

"Wow, fuck you?!"

"But you'll learn about your human history soon enough." He inspects his curving claws. "And if we're demons to you, then I don't know what that makes your kind."

The rest of the students flitter to their spots around you, and you promptly bite off your retort.

====

He has his first meal during lunch.

Pure irony.

A couple of your 'friends' -- Tavros, Kanaya -- aren't present, but you still sit with the rest in relative affability. Fifth grade has already began taking its toll; Gamzee is zoned out in a faceful of PB & J sandwich, Terezi and Vriska are busy sleeping on each other's shoulders, Nepeta and Equius are playing the laziest game of cards ever existent, the game taking intermittent turns switching between Slap Jack (which Nepeta always wins) and BS (which Nepeta also wins). The whole table is distracted.

"Come on," Sollux whispers to you.

You're ten, but you've seen enough vampire movies to believe he'll go downtown on your neck or wrist or something. Instead he leads you to a nearby bathroom, has you get in a stall, and sit down on the closed toilet seat.

"Hey," he mutters, his voice for once kind, "just relax a little. You're not really giving anything away, you know."

"I'm scared," you whisper and you hate how tremulous your voice sounds.

"Hey," he repeats, kneeling in front of you. He clumsily pats your knee, and that motion somehow gives you a little assurance. "I promise it won't hurt that bad. Don't think of those stupid movies you've seen."

"Okay," you say hoarsely.

He stands up -- looming over you a little -- and hugs you.

_Hug?_

"What -- "

"Shh." He pats your shoulders, his fingers resting on the top of your spine. "I'll make it quick, I promise."

And then you _feel_ it -- it's a cold, hollow tug in your stomach, like something's probing around to find your liver -- warmth and coldness both flood your body at the same time, leaving you a shivering mess in his arms. He's now the only thing preventing you from crashing onto the ground. You feel him shaking too, his skin warm against yours, and he lets out a sigh of contentment as the tug intensifies.

There's a flare of pain behind your ribs, like a needle poking through, and the spell breaks.

You collapse back onto the seat, gasping frantically, patting down your torso. You feel like you're missing an internal organ somewhere. Sollux slumps against the stall's wall, and you notice his skin seems to shine more.

Gradually, both of you regain your breaths.

"Which one did I _share_ with you?" you finally bite out, and guilt flashes across his face.

"Your fear," he says softly.

====

You'd like to call Sollux's role in your life as forceful assimilation, but he deems it more "a blossoming friendship."

You don't talk after your first feeding. He definitely looks contrite about it -- for the rest of the day he keeps his distance and doesn't try talking with you. When the bus comes around to pick you up, he sits as far as possible from you on the aisle seat.

You're not sure what to say.

There's something inherently _wrong_ about what he did -- and he knows it too -- because there's an implicit power imbalance somewhere. Even if you lay out the rules, he's still holding all the cards. You don't know if he can lie or not.

He's depending on _you_ for food -- but he's the one in power.

You're the hunted, you realize with a tinge of fear. And you don't have a single damn clue what to do.

Sollux watches you battle with yourself on the bed, struggling not to give in to your dread or your sudden paranoia. You need to solve this somehow. Maybe you should learn how to banish him -- but maybe he'll get to you first --

"KK," he says, and the nickname's so bizarre that you stare at him dumbly. "KK, don't be scared."

"I'm not," you barely gasp out. "I'm really not -- not fearing for my life, totally. I'm cool."

He walks toward you.

Before your self-preservation instincts even kick in, he's wrapping you into another hug, your face pressed against his collarbone. Spindly hands caress your hair, patting it warmly, even if his skin's coolor than you remembered.

"This isn't even a vow or anything," he mumbles to you, and you can feel his breath stir your hair. "I promise I won't hurt you. Or your family, I guess. But I won't lay a hand on your head."

"You still have to feed off of me -- "

"I'm sorry about that. I'm so sorry," and he's rocking you a little, "you don't deserve it. You're a piece of shit, but you're a good kid. I -- I really wish I could be out of your hair. Get the hell away."

You cling onto him against all logic.

====

"If it makes you happier, I could go feed off sexual abusers or something."

Night number something passes by with rarely a hitch; he feeds off of you around every three to four days, and each time you feel like hollowed out shit afterward. Currently he's messing around on your computer, finishing up a particularly frustrating game of online chess, while you're slumped on your bed once more.

"Say what," you murmur.

He does the glasses-rubbing gesture. "I could go chomp off murderers or rapists or slavers, I guess. They're people who deserve it way more than you do."

"I..." You feel tempted to launch into an argument of patriotism on the moralities of siccing a demon on people you don't even know. "I -- "

"You're not too cool with it."

"They deserve to be punished," you say instead, feeling way out of your league for your elementary-school brain. "But I don't think I'm qualified to be their judge."

The gaze he levels you with is peculiar -- his head tilts a little, he looks at you over his trashy glasses lens, his mouth quirks up at the corner -- before he turns his attention back on the screen. "Fuck," he hisses, staring at the checkmate on the board, and you don't hesitate in laughing at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning; this fic is rated M for some violence and sexual content later, as well as topics dealing with sexuality, mental health, and moral issues.


End file.
